


In These Quiet Moments

by Evesi



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Assassin's Creed II, Assassin's Creed: Lineage, Cunnilingus, F/M, Hand Jobs, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 07:26:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evesi/pseuds/Evesi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giovanni was a talented man, but there were some skills only Maria was privy to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In These Quiet Moments

**Author's Note:**

> C-c-combo breaker! In more ways than one, come to think of it.
> 
> Anyway, this is based off of the following prompt on the AssCreed kink meme: _Cunniligus._
> 
> _You know you want it, you know it needs to be done. Extra points if Maria gets a power kick off being pleasured by an assassin._
> 
> This prompt reminded me that I should rewatch _Lineage_ , which in turn made me want to fill this prompt because of all of the fuzzy Giovanni/Maria feelings I ended up getting (again) ahhhh.

She had long known of how talented her husband’s tongue was.

After all, Maria had fallen victim to it before--his charm and wit quickly whittling down her defenses when so many others had failed to win her heart. It did not help that his mouth was equally pleasing, what with such a gentle smile and lips that kissed so very softly. Giovanni never failed to know what to say, to whisper in her ear, to murmur against her skin.

She knew intimately of the venom that he could speak as well; she knew of his violence and of the blood on his hands. Her beloved had trusted her with these secrets, and Maria kept them, locked away behind sealed lips and a knowing smile. The end of their fairytale was always so close, but she trusted in his strength and skill to keep them safe--to keep their _family_ safe.

There were others who could relate to both of these things though. What was hers and hers alone was the talent of Giovanni’s mouth and hands, of his body when applied to _pleasure_.

He had a habit of approaching her when she least expected it, cloaked in silence and the shadows--had a habit of greeting her with a kiss to the neck, arms looping slowly around her waist. Maria would smile, of course, and chide him for making her wait, for making her worry; he would always apologize, whispering the words against her skin until she laughed.

Forgiveness, however, was always harder to seek.

Giovanni’s hands were rough despite the gloves he tended to wear, but she never tired of the feeling of them. They were always quick and efficient to disrobe her, easily managing complex ties and delicate lace, but when they dragged over warm skin, he was slow and methodical, mapping her, memorizing her, keeping her as his most treasured memory--and his mouth, his talented mouth, would follow, painting her every curve with kisses and lazy flicks of the tongue.

Lower and lower he would go until he was all but on bended knee before her, and Maria would comb her fingers through his fine hair, shaking her head lightly. Smiles would play at the corners of their lips; they were both well familiar with this game and what it entailed: he would sigh, and she would feign indifference to his plight.

Clemency came at a high price, and Giovanni knew this well.

He would nip gently at her skin, slide his tongue over the curve of her hipbone, and it wasn’t until she’d tug at his hair that he’d drag his mouth lower, hands smoothing over her thighs. Maria would never utter a word, never ask or command, but she always knew that he would obey her silent request, would take her with that skilled mouth of his.

Giovanni tended to use his tongue first--teasing licks against her folds, swirling around her sensitive nub. He would hum, low in his throat, as if nothing could make him happier, and his eyes would be filled with a warmth, a quiet but growing desire. Maria would trace her fingers across his brow, over his jaw, to tell him to give her more.

Rising to his feet, he would push her toward the bed (gently--always gently, despite the strength she knew he possessed), and he’d climb onto the sheets after her, darting in to press kisses against her mouth--always too quick for her to catch him and reciprocate. Giovanni would smile, teasing, up until the point that she would slide a hand around the back of his neck, capturing him so that she could kiss him properly with tongue and lips and the softest of moans shared between them.

Giovanni would always be the one to break the kiss, would always ask if he was forgiven for his transgressions then. The answer, of course, remained the same: no.

Not to be deterred, he’d settle between her legs and press kisses to the inside of her thighs, applying the slightest drag of teeth when she laid back against the sheets--and then... _Then_ , there was bliss.

His mouth was hot and wet, his tongue slick against her folds. Giovanni would lap at her, mouth at her--coat his lips with her arousal; she would tangle her hands in his hair and pull, hips lifting from the bed as pleasure arced up her spine. Warm hands would press against the back of her knees, spreading her, and Maria would not mind, _could_ not mind, when she felt his tongue slip inside her.

It mattered not how many times they did this: the sensation would always make her gasp and her eyes squeeze shut. Maria would whisper his name, encouraging him, forever careful to never raise her voice lest she provoked the suspicions of their young children, and Giovanni understood, even if he would test her every time, what with the way that he’d lick and thrust and suck in the most delightful manner.

He would always tease her, drawing her right to the edge, only to leave her hanging--her breath catching in her throat, her body trembling with need, her skin flushed with arousal. Maria would feel his smile against her skin, could sense his humor, and _just_ before she would admonish him, he would complete her, elegant fingers sliding into her and mouth upon her once more.

Ecstasy would claim her with a low moan and a buck of the hips, a shudder running down her spine. Warmth would fill her, spread throughout her, and Maria would pet his hair, murmuring thanks, as she rode through it--as he worked her through the very last of her climax. It was only when she was luxuriously sprawled across the sheets that he’d draw himself out with jerky hands, spit in his palm, and close his fist around himself.

She’d watch him, eyes narrowed in amusement, and when he’d just about reached his limit, when his breath had been reduced to ragged pants, Maria would sit up and wrap her fingers around his, kiss his lips, and tell him that all was forgiven. Giovanni would spill over their hands with a low, muffled groan, tension at last disappearing from the lines of his body so that he was warm and pliant in her arms.

In these quiet moments, Giovanni was free. He was not bound to the Medici or the Creed, and no worries would crease his brow or cloud his thoughts. No, he was hers and hers alone--Maria’s Giovanni.


End file.
